So, under the circumstances, it almost feels like too much for a person to wish for one of our big dreams to come true these days. I don't know about you, but I'll settle for a few little ones at this point.
Luckily, there are a few of those in the pipeline.
My 12-year-old grandson is dealing with the normal angst of being his age as he starts middle school, but he has to do so from his bedroom. No making new friends, playing on the sports teams, feeling more grown up -- none of that.
Just stuck at home with his family, plus his aged grandfather, and a big yawning hole where life used to happen. Like all of us in the western states, he is doubly oppressed by the ring of fire that envelops us, forces the windows to stay shut, even as the heat rises.
Into that suffocating void, the baseball season hestintantly proceeds. His favorite team is the A's; mine the Giants -- both local teams. If you do not know baseball, you can be forgiven for not realizing it is an intellectual's sport, with many strategic moves, a sign language, and statistical variables that appeal to those who like math and those who like romantic stories to tell.
At the heart of the romance of baseball is the comeback. The game is long, nine innings normally, which stretches to some three hours in length. When you could attend in person, there were the smells and sounds of a stadium packed with fans munching on hot dogs and peanuts and swallowing beer, wearing their favorite player's uniform and chanting, and (sometimes) keeping score on a sheet of paper.
(The teams sell the scoresheets and small pencils for a buck or so outside the gate.)
My grandson's team, the A's, are going great. They are in first place in their division and in their league, which is called the American League.
By contrast, the Giants have had a horrible start, spending most of the attenuated season in last place in their division in the National League.
Tuesday night, he and I watched the Giants play their traditional rival, the Dodgers, which have the best overall record in baseball and are a powerhouse team.
The Dodgers led 3-0 after the top of the first inning; the Giants tied the score.
The Dodgers led 6-3 after the top of the third inning; the Giants eventually tied that scores in the bottom of the 9th inning.
So, extra innings ensued.
The Dodgers went ahead 7-6 in the top of the 10th; the Giants matched that in the bottom of the 10th.
But the Dodgers went ahead again, 8-7 in the top of the 11th. By now, the game had stretched late into the night here in the Bay Area and my grandson really belonged in bed.
It seemed quite unlikely that the Giants would be able to come back again, but they did, tying the game 8-8. Then something extraordinary happened. They had one man on base when one of their players who rarely hits the long ball belted a mighty home run.
The Giants won the game, 10-8.
In the great scheme of the baseball season, and in the even greater scheme of life, this was a tiny moment, one that we both probably will forget in time.
Or maybe not. After all, even small dreams coming true are memorable moments in times like these.
***
Another small dream, maybe more of a middle-sized one, is the hope that my 21-year-old daughter can find a place to live back east for her senior year of college.
She and her friend are looking for a house to rent near the Jersey shore, not far from where her friend has a job and her family lives. My daughter lives with her mother in San Francisco.
The girls are being helped by a real estate agent, but so far, the places they've identified insist on an eight-month lease, and the rental prices are pretty steep in that area.
I'll back up my daughter's commitment if we can find a suitable place. I want her to have some semblance of a normal senior year. The reason she needs to live in the Eastern time zone is her college is located in Maryland, and it is too difficult being out here, three hours behind the daily class schedule.
She is a Peace Stduies major. God, we could certainly use more Peace Stduies majors in charge of our public affairs these days!
Anyway, since Covid has closed her campus, she needs to retrieve her possessions soon and move them to a new location, preferably on the afore-mentioned Jersey shore. She doesn't drive herself, so someone needs to go back there with her to help her collect her stuff and drive her to her new home, once it is found.
Yesterday, my doctor cleared me to be able to fly with her if it comes with that. Within two weeks or so, I ought to be able to see again courtesy of very expensive eye surgeries, so that means I can start driving again, after years of not doing so.
Another small dream, I know, but from a father's perspective, kind of a big one, and one worth holding on to.
Meanwhile, maybe somewhere along the Jersey shore there is a landlord who has a heart...
***
Let's move on to a most decidedly heartless world and its news.
* Hurricane Laura slammed into Louisiana with 150 mph winds. (CNN)
* Heat, Smoke and Covid Are Battering the Workers Who Feed America -- Climate change is piling on to the hazards already faced by California farm laborers, some of the country's poorest, most neglected workers. (New York Times)
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singing in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear
Just saying this
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me
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